


Deeper Shadows

by M_Monoceros



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Ellibot, I think?, Incest, M/M, Mr. Robot Kink Meme, Mr. Robot gets beat up, Oral Sex, Red Wheelbarrow, idk there's blood and it's kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Monoceros/pseuds/M_Monoceros
Summary: Elliot tries to keep his head down, but Mr. Robot has other ideas. Set in prison during eps1.91_redwheelbarr0w.txt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another fill for the [Mr. Robot Kink Meme!](https://mrrobot-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Original prompt is [here.](https://mrrobot-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/574.html?thread=33342#cmt33342)
> 
> This was an experiment and I'm not sure if I succeeded. OH WELL.

“So I told her, it’s not my fucking fault the kid don’t respect her. Her real daddy shoulda taught her right the first time, then I wouldn’t have to.” 

Elliot fixed his eyes straight ahead as he waited for his food, trying to block out the conversation of the men in front of him. But that was difficult when Mr. Robot wanted him to hear it so fucking badly. 

He was standing beside Elliot, listening eagerly. At every inflammatory word out of the man’s mouth, Mr. Robot laughed or whistled in amusement, like he was watching a fucking tennis match.

“Her mom’s a goddamn retard too, so I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, am I right?” the man continued. “I mean, it's true in every other way… Huge tits on that one already. Walk into the room before she does. She was nice piece of ass before I left, but she’s gonna be fucking ripe when I get back…” 

His name was McKinney, Elliot was pretty sure. He had seen the guy once or twice around the basketball court, and he had his own group of “friends,” but they mostly stayed out of everyone else’s way. Still, his past was … unsavoury, to put it nicely; according to the whispers that spread through the neighbourhood like a virus, the only thing keeping McKinney safe was a few well-placed favours. Not that you’d guess it from the shit he was saying right now.

“Can you believe this moron?” Mr. Robot whispered in his ear. Elliot ignored him. Hash browns were on special today. 

He knew what Mr. Robot was doing. He had only been back at his mom’s for a couple weeks, but Mr. Robot was looking for any way he could think of to destabilize his carefully constructed regimen. 

“You’re just gonna stand there, huh?” Mr. Robot asked. Elliot could feel him hovering just over his shoulder, breathing down his neck. He shivered. 

“I’m not starting shit,” he said under his breath. He still wasn’t too sure how this whole thing worked when other people were around. Behind him in line, Leon gave no indication that he had heard anything out of the ordinary. 

McKinney had begun to describe, in vivid detail, how he punished his girlfriend’s daughter when she came home after curfew. 

Why was the line moving so fucking slowly? Elliot was really looking forward to the hash browns. The food at the diner wasn’t always the best, but it was still pretty hard to fuck up potatoes. 

“Oh come on,” Mr. Robot said. “It would help you in the long run—teach them not to mess with you.” He punched Elliot’s arm playfully and grinned. 

“Go to hell.”

Mr. Robot sighed. “Too afraid of fucking up your perfect little routine, huh? Showing these guys who’s boss would make it easier, you know.”

Elliot ignored him, but Mr. Robot wasn’t deterred. He leaned in close, stubble scraping Elliot’s cheek—fuck, it felt so real—and Elliot fought the rise of bile in his throat.

“Come on, kid—it’ll feel good. You know I’m right. You must be close to losing it, right? Must be frustrated. I mean, you haven’t even jerked off since—Christ, since before we got in here,” Mr. Robot’s voice was low and silky in his ear. The line inched forward, and Elliot tried not to think about beating him over the head with his food tray. 

“Hey cuz, you good?” Leon asked quietly. Elliot looked down to find he was gripping his tray with white knuckles. 

“Yeah,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. 

“You hear what the tranny did to Morelli on Friday?” McKinney asked his friend, and at the words Elliot gave up all hope of blocking out their conversation. Mr. Robot was listening keenly. 

“Nah, what?” 

“Busted his lip, straight up. But he showed it what’s what. It’s face ain’t so pretty now, I hear. Kind of a shame for the rest of us—it was ugly enough to begin with; not sure I’ll be able to get hard staring at that mess anymore—”

“Shut the fuck up, man.” 

Elliot didn’t realize the words had come from his mouth until he looked up and found a sea of eyes staring back at him. 

“’Atta boy,” Mr. Robot said gleefully. 

“What’d you say?” McKinney demanded. 

Shit. This was not part of the regimen.

“Yo, cuz—” Leon started to say. 

“You heard me.”

Elliot froze, because this time the words really hadn’t come from him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you,” Mr. Robot said, stepping in between Elliot and McKinney. “Unless, of course, you want to, oh, I don’t know… _put it to good use_ and make it up to me.”

_What the fuck._

McKinney wasn’t looking at Elliot anymore—he was staring directly at Mr. Robot, a large purple vein throbbing unpleasantly in his forehead. Mr. Robot planted his feet and folded his arms, returning his gaze with full force. 

“Who the fuck you think you are, man?” 

“You gonna apologize?” Mr. Robot asked, and—to Elliot’s horror—grabbed his crotch suggestively. 

That was enough. McKinney swung, but Mr. Robot was ready for it—he ducked, lunged for Elliot’s tray, and slashed it across McKinney’s face with a dull crack. The diner erupted into shouts, whoops, and jeers, but Elliot barely noticed—he was rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold with empty horror. 

McKinney stumbled back, clutching his face as Mr. Robot advanced on him. Blood seeped thickly from between his fingers. 

A sucker punch from one of McKinney’s friends caught Mr. Robot full force in the side of the head; he stumbled and swung wildly. And of course McKinney had more than one friend, and soon it was two-on-one. They overwhelmed him quickly, and in a few short seconds Mr. Robot was on the ground. As Elliot watched he thought distantly that _fuck,_ this was _his_ body Mr. Robot was fighting with—his split lip; his blackened eye.

Each blow that connected with Mr. Robot’s body sent a dull jolt through Elliot, but still—somehow—he remained blissfully numb to the pain. Faintly he heard whistles and a different tone of shouting, but the crowd had closed in around them, shielding them from whoever had come to break up the fight. 

McKinney had regained some of his composure, and with the twitch of a hand his men stopped pummelling Mr. Robot and heaved him to his feet, pinning his arms back against the counter. McKinney grabbed the tray from the ground. 

“You piece of shit. You fucked up my face.” 

It was true—his face was a mess, covered in blood and twisted with rage. It should have been a terrifying sight, and yet—

Mr. Robot laughed. The sound was wet and hoarse and painful, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his battered ribcage. Elliot tried to imagine Mr. Robot’s expression on his own face—eyes wild, blood and spit dribbling down his chin, swollen lips stretched into a manic grin… 

The fucked up thing was that it wasn’t even that hard.

The tray met the side of Mr. Robot’s head with a wet crunch, and Elliot had to grab onto the counter to keep himself from falling over as the world tilted and stars burst before his eyes. 

Droplets of blood flew to the ground as Mr. Robot spluttered and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “That all you got?” he slurred. “Come on you fucking—”

The second blow came from the other side, and Elliot’s stomach lurched. _Stop, please,_ he tried to say, but no sound came out. 

Mr. Robot spat a thick glob of blood to the ground. The tray had opened deep gashes across his cheek and temple, and he had to blink furiously to clear the blood from his eyes. 

“Yo man, guards are coming,” hissed one of McKinney’s friends. Elliot was dimly aware that the cafeteria—fuck, diner; whatever—was in chaos, on the verge of a full-scale riot. As McKinney made to leave, Mr. Robot called out after him: 

“Beating the shit outta me make you feel better about fucking little girls?” 

McKinney whirled on him, tossing the tray aside and going in on him with his bare hands. 

Elliot watched, oddly transfixed, as Mr. Robot took the beating. Not like he could do much else—McKinney’s men held Mr. Robot firm, and Elliot was still frozen in place. The checked linoleum was flecked with red, and his eyes drifted hazily to the pool of blood forming by Mr. Robot’s foot. 

As each punch landed, Elliot felt himself slipping bit by bit into unconsciousness, the world flickering before his eyes. It was like he was watching the scene through a very long, dark tunnel. Just when he was about to pass out, a voice sounded over the intercom:

 _“All inmates return to your cells immediately.”_

McKinney threw in a couple more punches for good measure before he turned and signalled to his men to release Mr. Robot. They disappeared quickly into the chaos, leaving Mr. Robot slumped in a heap against the counter.

Elliot moved dreamily to his side. 

His face was almost unrecognizable, cut and bruised, beginning to swell and oozing blood from too many places to count. Elliot knelt down and studied him up close. That was _his_ face, he thought numbly. Soon he would feel those wounds on his own skin. He moved a hand to his cheek, trying to shatter the illusion, but felt nothing. 

“Back to your cell, Alderson,” said a stern voice from above him. Mr. Robot wasn’t moving. “On your feet,” the guard commanded. “Or do I have to write you a shot?”

“Get the fuck up,” Elliot hissed at Mr. Robot. He blinked slowly, then smirked, showing his bloodied teeth. 

The guard was reaching into her pocket when Elliot grabbed Mr. Robot’s arm and hoisted him upright. 

“Goody fucking two shoes,” Mr. Robot grumbled as Elliot dragged him away.

*

As soon as they made it back to Elliot’s room, Mr. Robot flopped onto his bed with a satisfied sigh.

“You got a fucking towel or something?” he asked, dabbing gingerly at his wounds.

Elliot rounded on him. 

“Get out.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Get the fuck out. Go away. Give me back my body. Whatever the fuck is happening right now— _make it stop,_ ” Elliot demanded. 

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” 

“All I have to—what the fuck are you talking about, man?” 

“You should be thanking me, kid.”

“ _Thanking you?_ You’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“What else is new?” Mr. Robot said drily. “Yeah, thanking me. Now they know what you’re—what _we’re_ —capable of. That shithead had it coming, and now they know we won’t—”

“ _’We’?_ There is no ‘we’ here, asshole. I don’t need you fucking my life up anymore, do you hear me?”

Mr. Robot rolled his eyes and stood up from the bed, brushing past Elliot as he strode to the tiny dresser in the corner and began to rifle through it. _Of fucking course,_ Elliot thought furiously—he hauled Mr. Robot all the way from the diner and now he was walking around like nothing had happened? 

“Did you hear me?” Elliot said, stepping closer. “Get the fuck out.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mr. Robot turned around, a pair of freshly-laundered briefs in one hand. “We’ve been over this a thousand times, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere. And if we’re gonna be stuck in here together for the foreseeable future, I’m gonna have some fun once in a while.” 

He brought the briefs to his face in an attempt to staunch the blood still flowing thickly from the wound on his forehead. They were sanding so close Elliot could smell it—metallic and sharp. It made his head swim. 

“What, you’re gonna tell me that you didn’t get a kick out of that? Beating the shit out of that sorry excuse for a human being?” 

Mr. Robot’s breath was hot on Elliot’s face. His teeth were stained red, and while the blood under his nose was beginning to dry and darken, the bundle of cloth he held to his head was already soaked through. 

There was something satisfying about seeing him that way—bleeding and broken. For now, at least, it wasn’t Elliot who had to pay the price for Mr. Robot’s recklessness. 

Mr. Robot watched him curiously as the thought flickered across his mind. 

“So that’s it, huh?” he asked. “You hate me that much? You’re getting off on this, aren’t you… Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m in your head, remember?” Mr. Robot purred. “I know what you think about when you tell yourself I’m not listening—”

“Shut up,” Elliot snarled, seizing him by the collar and shoving him backward into the dresser. Mr. Robot’s hiss of pain was deeply satisfying. “You’re not in control right now,” Elliot said softly, and it was true, wasn’t it? He twisted his fingers in the fabric of Mr. Robot’s shirt, drawing him closer. 

Then Mr. Robot shifted, and Elliot was suddenly aware of the way they were pressed together. Mr. Robot’s eyes were alight with a crazed sort of triumph as he moved his hips against Elliot’s, watching him closely, sizing him up, and fuck—Elliot really should have seen the kiss coming. 

He flinched when Mr. Robot lunged forward, bringing their lips roughly together. Still, he didn’t recoil; somehow, that felt like giving in. 

As Mr. Robot slid his tongue past Elliot’s lips, the taste of metal overwhelmed him. 

This had happened before. It was Mr. Robot’s trump card—if he felt like he was losing, or Elliot was getting too cocky, he pulled _this shit._ It fucked with Elliot’s head, and Mr. Robot knew that. 

But instead of shutting down or pulling away like he usually did, Elliot kissed him back harder, savouring the raw tang of his mouth and the smell of his body. Mr. Robot grunted in pain and surprise, and the sound sent a jolt of warmth to Elliot’s cock.

He felt Mr. Robot smile against his mouth. “Sick fuck,” he said between kisses. “You know who I am, right? And you still want it this bad? Christ,” his voice was low and dangerous, and normally the words would turn Elliot’s stomach and send him reeling, but right now he was too furious—and too hard—to care. 

“I told you I didn’t want to start shit,” Elliot said. He moved his hand to Mr. Robot’s crotch and squeezed his cock until he squirmed and swore under his breath.

“What’s your point?” Mr. Robot muttered. 

“You owe me an apology.” 

Mr. Robot pulled back, studying Elliot’s face. His lips were slick and swollen, glinting wetly in the half light. Elliot’s breath stuttered when he felt Mr. Robot’s hands at his waistband.

He leaned back on the dresser as Mr. Robot kneeled in front of him. A violent shudder ran through him when Mr. Robot ran a hand up the inside of his leg, allowing it to linger there briefly before he unfastened Elliot’s jeans. The wound on his forehead was bleeding freely again, trickling down his face and onto the dirty linoleum as he took Elliot’s cock deep into the back of his throat. 

Elliot watched him hazily—what little he could see of Mr. Robot’s face was stained red, and he couldn’t help the sound that escaped him when Mr. Robot drew back and Elliot saw the mess of saliva and blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth and coating his cock. 

Elliot moved his hips to Mr. Robot’s rhythm. He tried not to think about what was happening right now—what was _really_ happening. There were so many layers of fucked up delusion he was pretty sure Krista would piss herself with excitement if he ever told her… _Sometimes my dead dad makes sexual advances on me and this one time I made him blow me to get even._

Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with him? 

He skimmed his fingers through Mr. Robot’s hair, still damp and matted with blood. His hand came to rest on the back of his head, and—partly just to see what would happen—he pushed Mr. Robot down forcefully, fucking into his mouth. Mr. Robot gagged and coughed and took it, fingers clawing at Elliot’s hips, urging him to go faster. 

“Shit,” Elliot muttered. He was already close. 

It wasn’t real. He knew that. It was all an elaborate, fucked up trick his brain was playing on him. Was this all supposed to help him? Comfort him somehow? 

The room seemed darker, Elliot thought distantly—had the sun gone down? He couldn’t remember what time it was; what day. Shit. Was this even happening? Was he dreaming? The shadows all around them were growing blacker, deeper, creeping towards them from the corners of the room, and all he could hear was his own ragged breath and the obscene noises coming from between his legs. _He was fucking crazy…_

Elliot felt his muscles tighten in anticipation as Mr. Robot’s rhythm quickened, but just as he was about to come the mouth on his cock disappeared, replaced by a calloused hand. He grunted in frustration—Mr. Robot was staring up at him, lips slick and dripping and twisted into a manic smirk. 

“You think you’re in control?” he hissed. “You think it’s that easy?” 

Elliot gasped as Mr. Robot dragged his thumb over the head of his cock, mixing his precum into the mess of fluids. He worked Elliot slowly, jerking him with painful deliberation. 

“Fuck you,” Elliot gritted out, but Mr. Robot just laughed. 

“I own you, kiddo,” he breathed, and his voice reverberated all around Elliot, bouncing off the walls, burrowing in his ear, boring through his skull. The smell of blood invaded his nostrils—fuck, he could feel it rolling down his face, pouring into his throat, choking him—he was fucking crazy and his head was spinning, but Mr. Robot’s mouth was on him again, hot and wet and careless, taking him deeper, drawing the orgasm out of him while the walls collapsed in on themselves. 

Elliot moved his hips desperately, crying out as Mr. Robot sucked the come from him. He didn’t let Elliot go until he had taken every last drop. 

When Elliot opened his eyes, Mr. Robot was standing in front of him, and with a sinking feeling Elliot saw that the wounds on his face—the cuts, the blood, the bruises—had vanished. 

Mr. Robot cupped his cheek and leaned forward. His tongue darted out to lick the blood from Elliot’s lips before plunging hungrily into his mouth, and Elliot nearly choked on the bitter taste of his own come. 

Mr. Robot’s hand slid to his throat as he pressed his mouth to Elliot’s ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered, and then he was gone.

Elliot gasped as the feeling flooded back into his limbs, his ribs, his raw knuckles—shit, he could feel every one of McKinney’s blows all at once. He sunk to his knees, doubled over in pain and struggling for breath. 

He was fucking crazy. He was crazy, and he was never getting out of here alive. 

Mr. Robot would see to that.


End file.
